


5 times - sleeping at Molly's

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, BAMF Molly, Cunnilingus, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:19:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Sherlock slept at Molly's flat and one time he didn't. This is a long, gently building Sherlolly with a sexy payoff in the end. Spans the timeline between The Fall and the end of Season three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 times - sleeping at Molly's

**The first night – After the Fall**

Sherlock was shattered, emotionally and physically…shattered. _It didn’t take a genius to see it_ , Molly thought. Molly watched Sherlock's eyes tracking John as his blogger stood wordlessly in her morgue, John’s blue eyes distant and his face shadowed with disbelief and grief as he approached the look-a-like corpse he thought was his friend. Sherlock had hidden and held himself rigidly motionless as John reached out to the bloody sheet covering the face, stopped, reached again before crumpling to the tiled floor to sob brokenly until Lestrade came and lead him quietly away.

After John left, Molly had gone to the usually dispassionate detective huddled in the corner and seen the tears rolling silently down his face. They’d talked about this in the days leading up to his ‘fake death’, how hard it would be to leave, but only now was the reality confronting them. Molly had quietly sat beside him, hand resting gently on his knee for what seemed like hours before Sherlock took a deep breath and straightened, seemingly ready to face the next step.

“You were right Molly, I’m sad when John can’t see me.” Sherlock’s voice held a restrained brittleness, “But you see me don’t you? Tell me I’m still real, still alive because at the moment, I feel like I died on that pavement.”

“I see you Sherlock.” Molly replied sadly, “Even when nobody else can. I see you.”

Sherlock stood with agonising slowness, as if every muscle hurt to stretch, “ _Especially_ when nobody else does. It appears I underestimated you too.”

“Do you have somewhere to go?....you know….tonight?” Molly stood, near enough for comfort without appearing to be clinging.

Sherlock blinked slowly, as if the idea had just dawned on him. Baker Street was lost to him now, lost to Moriarty’s madness, lost like…. John. “No. I don’t suppose I do.”

“Come to my place then, just until you work out your next steps.”

…

Sherlock slept on the couch that night, long legs uncomfortably draped over the arm. He’d paced restlessly before finally succumbing to exhaustion. Molly stayed up through the night, watching as Sherlock tossed and turned fitfully. It seemed right to her, that she was standing her own quiet vigil over the broken soul of the man who had ‘died’. She watched as the dawn light brought his cheekbones into stark relief, rare dark circles under his eyes evidence of troubled dreams.

Molly made him toast and eggs for breakfast and watched as Sherlock’s gaze drifted to the jam jar. Watching as despair and loss transformed his face, she reached out to cover his hand with her own and murmured, “He’ll be fine Sherlock, we’ll take care of him.” A wordless nod was the only response and they finished their meal in silence until Mycroft arrived to shepherd his brother away.

 

**The second night – During the hunt**

“No Sherlock, under no circumstances are you putting that on my dining table.”

Sherlock stepped forward to loom over Molly, assuming that by invading her personal space and glaring imperiously, that the smaller woman would surrender control over another surface in her flat.

Molly hardened her mouth and stared back, hands on hips and shook her head. “No means no Sherlock, and I’m not having this conversation again. This is my home and although you are very welcome to use it, you will NOT turn it into your own personal lab. NO toxic chemicals on ANY surface that we eat off….EVER!”

Sherlock knew he was beaten. His ability to manipulate or charm Molly Hooper had evaporated by the second week of his visits. He was sleeping at Mycroft’s house but had taken to using Molly’s flat as a base of daily operations.

Molly placed a hand on Sherlock’s arm, “Compromise?”

“What do you suggest?”

“My bedroom’s big enough to set up a desk and the ventilation’s better anyway. Why don’t you push the bed against the wall, set up in there and I’ll move into the spare room?”

Sherlock knew he appeared dispassionate and uncaring to others but the truth was more complicated. Where most people allowed social niceties to dictate behaviour, Sherlock took a ruthlessly logical approach and in this case, logic dictated that his need should come first. Sherlock needed  the space and Molly was offering. _She wouldn’t offer if she didn’t mean it…right?_

Nevertheless, he felt obliged to ask, “Are you sure?”

Molly smiled kindly, understanding the work Sherlock was doing and the effort he was putting in to dismantle Moriarty’s network and keep his friends safe.

“Yes Sherlock, I’m sure. I mean, it’s not forever….is it?”

“I hope not.” 

Two hours later, Molly was sitting sipping a cup of tea on her couch when the sound of smashing glass carried through her closed bedroom door followed by a shout, a thud, and silence. Pushing open the door to her room she was confronted by a sweet alcoholic smell and Sherlock face down on the bed. Grabbing a quick breath of clean air, she strode into the room, threw open the window to clear the fumes. Checking the fallen detective, she found a steady heart rate and regular breathing. Checking the label on the broken vial she confirmed the contents as Chloroform and was reassured that Sherlock would wake in his own time.

Throwing a rug over the sleeping detective, she left the door to the bedroom open and calmly returned to her tea.

 

**The third night – Returning to London**

The knock came at close to midnight. Molly had changed for bed but was still tucked up with a cup of hot chocolate, finishing a couple of reports for the morning. Opening the door, she was presented with a tall, bloody-nosed detective absently blotting at spots on his pristine white shirt.

“Hell Sherlock, what have you done to yourself? Oh…welcome back.”

“I may have misjudged John’s reaction to my return…. slightly.” He said tightly.

“Ah, I see. How many times did he hit you? Just the once? Tea?” Molly stepped back to let him enter.

“Oh please, be more specific Molly. By hit, do you mean physically make contact, or an actual closed fist strike? How can you expect me to answer such a vague question?” Sherlock began to step through the door only to find it suddenly blocked again by Molly’s smaller frame.

Molly pursed her lips and glared, “Now stop right there Sherlock Holmes. You’ve clearly had a difficult night, but there’s no point getting angry with me. You know the rules, they haven’t changed. This is my home and you’ll kindly remember that.”

Sherlock paused and blinked thoughtfully, looking oddly younger as he toyed with the tissue in his hand. Sniffing through his blocked nose he nodded and addressed her solemnly, “True. I’m sorry Molly, too many months alone has dulled my already inadequate social skills….May I come in?”

The smile lit her face, “Yes you may Sherlock. It really is lovely to have you back.” She reached up on the balls of her feet and kissed him on the cheek, turning to put the kettle on.

Twenty minutes later, tucked up on the couch, long legs sprawled over Molly’s lap and hanging over the edge on the snug two person couch, Sherlock sipped at his tea while he explained how the final pieces of Moriarty’s network had been dismantled, Mycroft’s recall, and the disastrous reveal at the restaurant. Molly listened, huffed, shook her head and patiently explained why the approach he’d taken with John was never going to work. The news about John’s girlfriend and her apparently instant acceptance of Sherlock’s reintroduction into John’s life was surprising. John's friends had watched as John had drifted away in the past two years, and understanding he needed the distance, had sadly accepted the change.

Sherlock stretched and let out an uncharacteristic yawn, and Molly looked at the drooping eyelids, “Jet-lag catching up with you?”

“Amongst other things. Mind if I stay? Only for the one night. I don’t want to impose, but Mrs Hudson may have me evicted if John’s reaction is anything to go by.”

“Of course. You’ll have to make do with the couch I’m afraid. I’m still in the spare room and…well…after what happened to my bed in your makeshift lab…” Molly trailed off.

Sherlock looked momentarily apologetic, “Yes, unfortunate. The couch will be fine. I’ve been sleeping rougher than this for months. I appreciate the kindness Molly.” Sherlock sighed and lapsed into an easy silence, drawing the rug higher on his chest. Molly picked up her files to finish her work.

Later, Sherlock’s gentle snuffles alerted her that he’d drifted into a light doze and she belatedly realised that she probably should have shifted herself from under his legs before he’d settled. Loathe to disturb him, she pulled a spare rug from the back of the couch and tucked it around herself before tucking a cushion behind her head. When Sherlock woke later, she’d move to her bed.

“Molly……” The deep baritone seemed out of place in her dream of endless form checking. It came again, “Molly….wake up.” The voice was soft and warm and slightly querulous…. _oh_.

Her eyes opened slowly to discover that she’d reoriented herself and was now snuggled with her head pillowed on Sherlock’s lean chest, head below his chin. At some point, he’d encircled her sleeping form with long arms and his warm breath was now tickling gently at the hair on the top of her head. It was still dark outside, and the clock on the mantle showed it a little past 4am.

Feeling her stir and head lift slightly, rather than extricating himself from the position, Sherlock simply took the opportunity to adjust the angle of his arms, settling more comfortably on the sofa and tucking her more conveniently in the angles and groves of his body on the couch.

“Sorry,” He said simply, “My arm was going to sleep, it’s fine now. Go back to sleep.”

“You don’t want me to….” She made a half-hearted effort to get up.

“No”, the arms tightened, “ It’s fine. It’s……good. Stay, if you don’t mind.” The tone was strangely vulnerable.

“Sherlock….Are you OK?” Molly wasn’t familiar with this aspect of the aloof detective. They’d always maintained a polite distance in the past. But something had changed while Sherlock was away. After talking about his time away, and the argument with John, he seemed…..softer, less closed off.

Sherlock leaned to nuzzle against her hair, “I missed people Molly. I didn’t want to, but I did. Moriarty was right when he identified those I care about as a weakness. But I can’t seem to stop. I seem to need this now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself; I always suspected the Tin Man had a heart in there. After all, you already had the courage and the brain from the other two.”

Sherlock’s deep chuckle rumbled under Molly’s ear, “Are you saying I’ve become a real boy after all?”

She laughed sleepily, “OK, I think we’ve mixed enough metaphors for one night. I’m just saying….If you need this, I’m here. I said it two years ago and it’s still true Sherlock, whatever you need, just ask.”

“I can ask a lot Molly. I’ve been told I’m a challenge.” Sherlock’s voice was deepening as he settled back into the warmth of the blankets and Molly’s embrace.

“Don’t worry Sherlock, I’m a big girl. I can handle one stroppy detective.” She murmured, lulled by the rumble of his words.

“Am.....not.....stroppy…..” Oncoming sleep slurring his words.

There was a long pause before the gentle reply came, “……are….so”

 

**The fourth night – After the wedding**

It had been an awful fight. Molly had known before they left the reception that it was finally over with Tom. They’d put up a brave front for the wedding, but it wasn’t going to work and they’d barely made it through the gates before he’d turned to her and asked for the ring back. After heated words about divided loyalty and being second choice, he’d gotten in a cab and she’d watched the tail-lights dwindle into the gathering fog.

The trip back to her old flat seems to take a lifetime. She was conflicted about whether she should be happy or sad that it was over, and too numb to succumb to tears of either frustration or grief. In the end, she fumbled in her bag for keys she hadn’t used in months and pushed open the heavy door to the place she’d called home for so long.

Bed, that’s what she needed. A good night’s sleep and it would all look better in the morning. That’s what they said wasn’t it, things looked brighter in the dawn?

Detouring past the bathroom to brush her teeth, she failed to notice the Belstaff coat draped carelessly over the arm of the couch in the dim of the flat.

Pushing her bedroom door ajar, she was in the process of unpinning her hair when her foot caught on a discarded shoe next to the bed. Glancing down the dim light was enough to reveal it to be a black men’s dress shoe before Sherlock’s distinctive voice penetrated the gloom.

“Wasn’t expecting you to be here Molly. I’ll leave.” There was tiredness and resignation in the tone.

“No…what?....Sherlock?” Molly stood next to the bed staring perplexed at the Sherlock shaped lump under her bed covers and wondering what chain of thoughts had lead him here to what he’d expected to be an empty flat.

“Didn’t want to go to Baker Street”, he stated simply, “It doesn’t _feel_ right these days and tonight…..” Sherlock sighed, “I just couldn’t face it.” Sherlock rolled to face her, “Why are you not with Tom?”

“Tom and I are over….but then…you already knew that.”

His nod was visible in the watery light through the window, “I suspected as much. Are you sorry?”

“Not as much as I should be. I think that was some of the problem.”

“Perhaps so. ” Silence fell in the room as both contemplated the next words carefully, “Should I move to the couch?”

Molly paused longer before replying tentatively, “Only if you want to.”

“Not particularly.” Sherlock could hear Molly’s slightly elevated breathing, “Will you be taking the couch?”

The hushed reply came, but with a note of a smile, “Only if you want me to.”

Sherlock’s reply came with a bubble of laughter, “Not particularly…..come here Molly.” He held up arms ensuring his message was clear and dispelling any lingering tension.

Molly came willingly into arms, bedclothes and her dress still between them. Content for now to simply be held and comforted in the strong embrace of a man she knew well and trusted implicitly. She snuggled shamelessly against his chest, slotting her head where it seemed to fit so naturally against his shoulder.

“You’ll freeze if you stay out there. If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you my arms are getting cold.” He ventured after a few minutes.

“Well then, can’t have that. Just let me change.” Molly turned and rose from the bed heading for the door.

“I’ll be here.”

Molly hurriedly changed from her dress and underwear into a short satin slip, brushed out her hair and wiped away the last of her wedding makeup. Looking at herself in the mirror, she gave herself a shy smile as she contemplated for a moment the long path that had finally lead them to this point. One she’s long given up hope of.

Returning to her room, she stood in the door awkwardly until Sherlock, without pretense, lifted the edge of the quilt silently inviting her to join him. She slipped between the sheets with a sigh as the warmth of Sherlock’s presence already in the bed welcomed her.

“Molly…”Sherlock began hesitantly, “I know this may not be what you want to hear, but I need you to know that nothing will happen between us tonight.” Sherlock paused, allowing her to consider his words.

“Oh…” She hoped that she’d kept the disappointment from her words.

“I do want more, and I know you do as well, but not tonight. My head is too full of the reasons I sought your flat out in the first place and I suspect, even if you don’t want to admit it, Tom is still very much on your mind. When something happens, and I think it’s clear that that’s inevitable, I’d much rather it just be us in the room. Does that make sense?”

Molly nodded, oddly touched by the sentiment in Sherlock’s words. He was right, this needed to be about them and nobody else. She was closer to the detective than she’d ever dared hope, and there was a promise of more. She could wait.

Sherlock cleared his throat, “That’s not to say we can’t….cuddle….if you’d like that.”

“Very much. To be honest, I think we could both do with it tonight.”

“Then come here.” For the second time that night, Sherlock’s arms encompassed her and drew her to him, heat from his body penetrating the thin satin immediately and drawing a surprised squeak from her somewhat unwillingly. Sherlock stilled, “You alright.”

“Yes”, adding an embarrassed chuckle, ”I suppose I thought you’d be…wearing more.”

“I didn’t plan this visit Molly,” He rumbled sullenly,” I don’t usually take pyjamas to a wedding. Underwear will need to do. Or I can make the offer again….couch?”

“No!...no,” more quietly the second time, “It’s good…great. More of you to cuddle.” Molly bravely wound her arms around the taller man hugging him to her mumbling fondly, “Never thought I’d have this. I never thought you’d want it”

“Things change Molly. Sometimes even when we don’t expect.”

For endless minutes, Molly ran her fingers in circles on Sherlock’s back, tracing muscles, old scars and unfamiliar curves. Fingertips tingling at the gentle contact and friction. She smiled against his chest as he huffed a frustrated sigh into her hair and murmured, “You’re a temptation, Molly Hooper. I just want you to know that.”

She giggled lightly, “Good to know I’m having some impact.”

“Just because you can’t hear the argument going on in my head between logic and desire doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. For what it’s worth, desire’s putting forward a solid case. But I meant what I said, not tonight. Turn over before I do something I’ll regret….like leaving.”

“Fair enough. You can’t blame a girl for trying.” Molly turned in the bed, shifting to push her back against Sherlock’s warm chest. Sherlock’s gentle hands on her hips stilling her before she could shift back to nestle against the lower part of his body.

“Molly….at least give me some chance of resisting you with a little dignity.” There was a note of desperation creeping in to his voice.

Molly smirked wickedly, “Oh seriously, I’m not that irresistible.”

“I beg to differ. But let’s not test it further. Sleep now Molly, and we can talk about this tomorrow.”

Molly wasn’t sure how long Sherlock lay awake. Certainly she didn’t hear his breathing slow before she drifted off herself. When she awoke, he was already gone.

 

**The fifth night – After the drugs**

“How DARE you waste your precious gifts.”

The slaps stung them both on both a physical and emotional level. Molly doubted she’d ever felt as betrayed as she did at that moment. Looking up into his bloodshot eyes, she struggled to control her rage in the face of Sherlock’s drug use and his absence.

She left the lab shortly after he’d departed, finding a quiet corner to hide while she leaned her hands on her thighs and struggled to catch her breath. Lifting a hand, she could see it visibly shaking with the adrenaline of Sherlock’s appearance in the lab. She felt like she’d gained an insight, just a tiny glimpse of the fury John must have felt after the two year absence.

She couldn’t work like this. Begging a favour from a colleague, she signed out and grabbed her bag to head out for a much needed dose of retail therapy and perhaps a sneaky sweet treat.

***

It was well after dark when the knock came. Molly, curled on the couch in robe and slippers, considered whether to open the door until a 2nd quieter knock came followed by a muffled, “Let me in Molly. Give me a chance to explain.”

She stood on the other side of the closed door, “Why? What have you possibly done to deserve that chance? I’m hurt, Sherlock. Hurt, and angry and vulnerable and….God, what could you POSSIBLY say to explain this to me?”

She heard his head strike the outside of the door and pictured him leaning against the wood, “Nothing….not a thing.” Silence fell before his voice came again, conciliatory and submissive, “Let me in anyway….please.”

Molly opened the door, standing aside as Sherlock, back in his more habitual suit and coat walked in; head down, shoulders slumped, his entire bearing telegraphing contrition and apology. It was a start. They had a long way to go, but it was a start.

Sherlock approached the couch and turned.

“Don’t sit Sherlock”, Molly crossed her arms, “You may not be staying depending on what happens next.”

Sherlock lifted his eyes to make contact across the room and Molly hesitated a moment. It would be so easy to capitulate and simply acquiesce under that persuasive gaze. There was regret there, she could see it. But that wasn’t enough. Regret after the fact was a troubling habit of Sherlock’s. While it was one that John may tolerate, she wasn’t John. She demanded better and knew the detective was capable of it.

She moved a step closer, keeping clear distance between them but it helped her feel more in control of the room, keeping her voice emotionless and level she stated, “So……think very carefully what you want to say, because I’m very clear about what I expect to hear.”

Sherlock virtually flinched, looking like she’d struck him again as the gravity of the situation finally seemed to hit home. Molly had served her ultimatum; Cold, unseasoned and raw. Sherlock could take it and like it, or leave.

He took a step toward her, stalled again at the rise of her hand warning him away.

“I…..” he began carefully, “..am sorry.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, “That’s it, is it….you’re sorry? And it’s all supposed to be sunlight and laughter again because you’re sorry.”

Sherlock looked lost and oddly smaller in the room, “It’s….. all I have.” He looked away for a moment, trying to find words to articulate what he meant, “I can’t change what I’ve done, or why I did it. I’ve hurt you terribly and I regret that, will always regret that, but I can’t change that now. I can't undo the hurt, all I can do is express my regret and try to do better in the future.” He looked back to meet her eyes, begging forgiveness, “Please…let me try to do better.”

Something like hope stirred gently within Molly. Still too distant to grasp, but the flicker sparkled deep within her.

She pushed for more, anger still fuelling her words, “You’re a bloody mess Sherlock Holmes, and I don’t think you quite realise it. You see people, really see them, deducing them thoroughly and mercilessly; But when it comes to understanding them, you just…..don’t. I know you don’t want to push people away, you’ve told me you need people since you’ve been back; yet you discard us thoughtlessly as if we have no value at all. That magnificent brain of yours thinks more in a day than most of us in a year and yet you don’t really……think at all. You just stumble from day to day setting fires as you go vaguely hoping someone will come and clear up the mess. And yet…..you…” she trailed off, grasping for words, “…you shine, Sherlock. You just…..shine. So much so that those who stay around you, John, Greg, Mrs Hudson, me……we risk burning just to sit in your sunlight.”

A single tear fell from his eye, hands by his side clenched as he waited for her to pass judgement upon him. Gracelessly he fell to his knees and looked up to her, “Molly…..help me be better” he finally managed, brokenly.

She went to him then, first placing a gentle hand on his curls before kneeling in front of him and pulling his head down onto his shoulder and he started to shake with quiet sobs.

“Shhhh, you’ll be OK. You just need a kick in the arse occasionally. I can do that if you like.”

“I’d like that very much Molly.” She could feel his smile against her neck as she heard the reply.

Molly turned her head and risked a chaste kiss on the plump lips that she’s admired for so long. It was a close as she could come to communicating forgiveness wordlessly and she was confident that the brilliant mind of Sherlock would make the connection.

She needn’t have worried. Sherlock pulled back, searching her face momentarily before seeking her lips in a far more assured and demanding kiss. Molly’s fingers, still entwined in curls, tangled gently while Sherlock’s hand came up to cup her neck and jaw as they gave themselves over to the long deferred pleasure of exploration.

They drew apart briefly as Molly smoothed a thumb over a refined cheekbone, “Stay?” she asked, the full meaning of the invitation clear in her tone.

Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded, responding in a tome far deeper than usual, “Mmmm, please.”

Unfolding themselves from their positions on the floor, Molly followed Sherlock to her room, pausing to drape his coat and jacket over a chair on the way. They took time removing the rest of his clothes, his large hands over hers unclasping buttons and trousers, dropping fabric to the floor piece by piece until she could step back and regard him in silky boxers. Her eyes took in long lean lines before noting the fresh injection marks on his arm. Her eyes hardened and met his briefly.

Glancing down he stepped forward to her, “I can’t change it, only say it will never happen again. The cost was too high. Come here.” With the simple statement, he gathered her into his arms, tugging at the belt of her robe as he did so and slipping his hands around her under the fabric. She reached out to tease at the waist of his boxers before tugging them out and dropping them to the floor. Her robe followed.

They stood silently, breathing together and offering wordless apologies and forgiveness before Sherlock tilted her head back and again captured her lips, drawing her toward the bed as he did so.

She pushed forward a little more, forcing Sherlock to sit as the mattress hit the backs of his knees. For once, she was taller than him and she leaned down to kiss him, watching as his chin tilted back exposing his long graceful neck. She dipped her head and sucked on the exposed skin, revelling in the baritone groan that shuddered through the man sitting on the bed.

Molly crawled onto Sherlock's lap, legs straddling his thighs and knees on the bed. Sherlock nuzzled against Molly’s chest, taking the opportunity to draw his tongue over a pebbled nipple. Molly threw her head back with a luxuriant sigh, thrusting her chest further forward as he moved his attention to her other nipple.

Snaking an arm around her lower back, he tilted them both back onto the bed, holding her against him and again bringing her head back level with his to lavish more attention on her mouth. Molly sucked his lower lip between hers, licking and nibbling gently before exploring deeper and more thoroughly. She gave herself over to the sensations, blissfully wrapped up in simply being part of something they’d chased for so long.

Lifting a long leg, Sherlock placed his foot on the edge of the mattress, using the leverage to flip them both over, then dragging them both up the bed.

“Better.” He rumbled.

Molly giggled, “You’ve done that before.”

“I read a lot…..nothing like research.”

“And what else does your…..research…tell you.” Molly ventured, eyes sparkling.

“Well…” an open and joyous smile made him look suddenly younger, “…studies say you’ll like…this”, he kissed his way down her neck and along her collar bone, “..aannndd…” he moved downward, hovering over her breasts, “..this” suckling on each in turn as she arched from the bed.

“….And…there’s consistent reports about….” He looked up as he dipped toward her navel, “this…” Molly was squirming now, caught between laughter and pleasure as Sherlock toyed with her.

“But…this…..well, everyone agrees further research needs to be conducted.” His tone dropped to a sultry murmur as he moved to settle between her legs before lowering his head and licking at her.

Molly’s vision dissolved into starbursts. Back arched and fingers clenched in raven curls as she whimpered shamelessly, victim to Sherlock’s focussed attention. Years of pent up desire and wanting shattered in glittering shards under his careful but thorough ministrations.

Sherlock's long fingers added internal stimulation to the mix and coaxed her to an orgasm that left her moaning and shuddering against his mouth. He gentled her through it, laying his head softly on her pubic bone while stroking softly and rhythmically as the shudders subsided.

Crawling back up her body, subtly wiping his mouth on the sheet as he moved, he looked into her eyes and murmured, “Beautiful. Just gorgeous. Thank you for that.”

Molly stared with heavy lidded eyes, “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”

He crinkled his lip and shook his head, “No. You fascinate me Molly, and you never stop. Always new, always a surprise.” He lowered his lips to hers again, devouring her anew.

Molly felt him hard against her thigh, the knowledge that he wanted her stirring desire afresh. Between kisses, she mumbled, “Condoms…side drawer.”

Not even looking or breaking contact, a long arm reached and fumbled with the drawer, retrieving a foil packet before handing it to her. “Will you?” he asked lifting his head.

“Oh! Of course….yes.”

Sherlock sat back on his heels and for the first time, Molly had a chance to really look. The long planes of his body were perfectly matched by his erection. Lean like the man himself, the smooth skin was firm and stiff, and under her gaze, nudged gently against his taut abdomen. Scrabbling onto her own knees, she leaned forward and circled her fingers around the base, unrolling the condom down the length before trailing the back of her fingers back up and gently cup the head in her palm, her thumb trailing over the slit. Sherlock’s groan was gratifying and very satisfying.

She looked up to meet his eyes playfully before putting a palm on his chest and pushing him backwards onto the bed, and moved to straddle his hips.

Looking down at him, his eyes alight and dilated she checked, “OK?”

“Yes..Oh yes.”

Molly lifted herself tilting her hips slightly and slid down on Sherlock’s cock, closing her eyes and simply basking in the feel of him filling her. She felt his hands come to settle on her hips, steadying and stilling her and when she looked to his face she could see a similar look of blissful abandon reflected in his own face. They shared a look for a moment, allowing this moment to be stored away, safe from whatever trouble the future may bring.

However, desire could not be denied forever and as Molly began to move her hips, Sherlock’s answering thrusts drew them back into a maelstrom of sensation and joy, breathy gasps and heedless moans sounding through the air of her room as they reached out to each other with noises older than words. Sherlock reached a finger between her legs to rub and press against her, edging her forward toward the inevitable climax they both chased. She shuddered with a keening cry as her pleasure constricted muscles and pushed him over a similar precipice, gasping her name and gripping her hip as he drove one final time into her and lifted her hips from the bed.

Falling forward onto his chest, she felt his heavy arms come around to clasp her to him, planting careless kisses into her hair.

She giggled a little and tried unsuccessfully to lift herself, giving up when her arms refused to bear her weight, “If I’m dead….say nice things about me.”

“The nicest things. Promise.” He hugged her hard. “Need to move for a second, or that condom won’t do its job.”

She giggled again and obligingly shifted to the side as he took care of the necessary clean-up before returning to the bed and into her arms.

This time, when she woke up….he was still there.

 

**Epilogue: And one time he didn’t sleep – Moriarty**

Moriarty was back. They didn’t know where, or what he planned but Sherlock knew the mistake the madman made last time wouldn’t be repeated. Moriarty had thought Molly didn’t matter. Now he would know she did….More than anyone.

As Sherlock sat silent vigil in her flat…..he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.


End file.
